


Man Is Born to Trouble, as Sparks Fly Upward

by MilesHibernus



Category: Warlock (TV) - Fandom
Genre: (Sort of Catholic anyway), 3.02 Inquisition, Catholic Guilt, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, You know which dream, mia_ugly's Slow Show Universe, the dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilesHibernus/pseuds/MilesHibernus
Summary: "All alone in the woods, priest."
Relationships: Erasmus/William (Warlock - Slow Show)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 66
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Slow Show Metaverse, Warlock fic





	Man Is Born to Trouble, as Sparks Fly Upward

**Author's Note:**

> I realise everyone and her maiden aunt has written fic about The Dream, but on the Two Cakes principle, here's my take.
> 
> This show is gonna kill me.

William didn’t remember walking away from camp, if blankets laid around a small fire deserved such a name, but he stood alone at the edge of a clearing as the sky faded from reds into blues. Shadows seeped out from under the trees, growing thicker as they came, until one shadow took on solidity and stepped into full view.

He stood where he was as Erasmus advanced on him. He thought he should walk away, or at least say something, but the fall of red hair over one shoulder fascinated him. He lost himself in wondering how that hair would feel, running through his fingers, freed of the scrap of string that held it in a neat tail. Erasmus came to a halt, much closer than he usually would, close enough to be uncomfortable.

William didn’t feel uncomfortable.

Not even when Erasmus laid one hand on his chest, and trailed it up to cradle his jaw. William felt on fire, and he was frightened to burn.

“All alone in the woods, priesst,” Erasmus murmured. William shuddered, and Erasmus’s lips pulled into a smirk as he bent to press their mouths together. The contact was like a revelation.

It wasn’t that William had never kissed anyone before, though it had been rather a long time. He had kissed girls, back when he was a novice. This was nothing like that. Everywhere Erasmus touched him felt hot, as if the man were a forge, and nowhere more so than his lips.

William didn’t realise they were moving until his back hit a tree trunk. With that to brace against he brought up his hands with the hazy intention of pushing Erasmus away.

He didn’t, and knew that not putting a stop to this made him weak, sinful. But that knowledge didn’t stop him _wanting_. Wanting Erasmus’s lips on his own, wanting Erasmus’s hands to seize his wrists and pin them against the rough bark of the tree, wanting to hear the tiny beautiful noises Erasmus made.

Then Erasmus let go of his wrists and pulled away from the kiss and William didn’t quite manage to stifle a sound of his own, this one protesting, and Erasmus gave him a sharp, wicked smile and sank to his knees. And stayed there, looking up, his amber-brown eyes glowing in the last light, his hands resting warm on William’s thighs. “This alright?” he said softly.

William should have said _No_. He should have said _Stop_. He should have said _Don’t._

He didn’t.

Instead he nodded, a sharp movement of his head before he leant it back against the tree and shut his eyes. He felt Erasmus working the laces of his breeches and sliding them down along with his loose linen drawers. The cool evening air did nothing to discourage his straining prick, the blood pulsing in it in time with his heartbeat.

Warm breath ghosted across the head of it. William whimpered and clapped his hand over his mouth, as if not making noise would mitigate his sin. Then Erasmus’s hot mouth descended on him and he forgot everything else.

He’d never lain with a woman. As a young man he hadn’t been able to resist touching himself, but the advance of years had made the impulse easier to ignore; it had been quite some time since he’d had an erection he wasn’t able to suppress with a little determined thought. Even when he was younger he’d thought of arousal as pleasant, but unnecessary.

Now, though, with Erasmus’s lips closed nearly at the base of his prick and Erasmus’s tongue sliding on the underside of it, William thought he could understand why men died for this, killed for it. So good, so _hot_ , his hips jerked forward without his permission and Erasmus made a satisfied noise and _sucked_ and William couldn’t smother his cry.

Erasmus clutched at his thighs like he wanted to stay there forever, kneeling at William’s feet. He drew back a trifle and his clever tongue flicked. William moaned. He was shaking, already, could feel the pleasure drawing into a knot at the base of his spine, tighter and tighter, building to something he knew would shatter him.

If he’d had the capacity to think anything at all, he might have been embarrassed by how quickly he approached the precipice. Just before he went over it, Erasmus pulled away.

“ _Please don’t stop_ ,” William gasped, and at the sound of his own voice he jolted awake.

His eyes fluttered open. The light of the moon, low in the west, showed him the dark sleeping shapes of Julia and Erasmus. When William had fallen asleep Joshua had been tucked into the curve of Erasmus’s body, breathing softly.

When William had fallen asleep. Which meant he’d been _dreaming_. “Oh, Lord,” William whispered. His prick was still hard, hard enough to ache, and there was no way to avoid understanding what had made it that way.

William’s vows were only the first of the many reasons he _could not_ think of doing this. It hardly mattered that Erasmus was another man; it would be no better to take up with Julia. The three of them were comrades in this mad endeavour and it would be folly beyond words to risk their fellowship for the sake of mere lust. Nor was it as if Erasmus would want him in return. William knew quite well that he was soft—if less so than he’d been when he left Neath—and undistinguished, able to fade into any background no matter what it might be, nothing like Erasmus with his knife-edged grace.

And, of course, it _did_ matter that Erasmus was another man. For that reason alone he wouldn’t want William, any more than William should want him.

 _God forgive me_ , William thought, and squeezed his eyes shut. To have such thoughts about another man, his comrade, his _friend_ —it was an appalling breach of trust. He’d never been so deluded as to imagine himself brave or strong or a leader of men, but he’d always thought he was at least loyal. He burned with shame to think a dream could have tempted him to abandon one of his few virtues.

What if it _had_ been a temptation? William had always privately thought that talk of ‘demons’ was metaphorical at best and an excuse for the sins of humanity at worst, but then he’d met Joshua. If that power could exist in the world, why couldn’t malevolent spirits? But it didn’t absolve him; a demon would not have sent such a dream if he hadn’t been susceptible to it.

And he had been. He’d allowed the dream-Erasmus to kiss him, to pin him against that tree. He’d agreed when Erasmus asked to suck his prick. He’d wanted to bury his hands in the embers of Erasmus’s hair, hold him in place, drive into him until he choked.

William turned his back to the other three and curled into a ball, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “ _Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa, peccavi,_ ” he whispered, “ _per superbiam in multa mea mala iniqua et pessima cogitatione_.” ‘Evil, iniquitous and heinous thought.’ Oh yes, it had been that.

Mired in his misery he didn’t notice anything until a gentle hand fell on his shoulder. “You alright?” Erasmus asked, in the low voice that had become habitual for times when two of them needed to talk while the others slept.

William froze, irrationally certain that Erasmus would somehow be able to sense his arousal. After a pause that stretched too long he replied, “I’m fine.”

“It sounded like you were praying.”

“I am a priest,” said William, as sharply as he could without raising his voice. “Perhaps you’d noticed.”

A moment passed. William could all but see Erasmus’s raised eyebrows. “Didn’t sound like that sort of prayer.”

“How would you know?” William snapped.

After another brief pause, Erasmus’s hand withdrew. “Sorry to have bothered you,” he said, in a tone that made it clear he was anything but.

William listened to him moving back to his own blankets and cursed himself. Wasn’t it enough that he’d defiled the man in his dreams, that now he was offending him when waking?

 _Confiteor Deo_ , he began, in his thoughts alone this time. His erection began to subside, finally. He lost track of how many times he repeated the words before sleep took him again.

In the morning, Erasmus acted perfectly normal. William tried to do the same but he knew he was stilted, awkward, in a way he hadn’t been since the very first days of their acquaintance. Julia noticed, of course, but had the grace to say nothing.

Finally, when she’d taken Joshua down to the stream to wash off at least the top layer of grime, William said, “I’m sorry about last night.” In a number of ways, only one of which Erasmus knew about.

He focused on his hands, folding his blanket; though he could all but feel the level look Erasmus aimed at him, he couldn’t bear to meet the man’s eyes. After a long moment, Erasmus sighed. “It’s alright, priest. Everyone has bad days.”

“It’s kind of you to say so, but I apologise nevertheless.”

“Yes, yes, apology accepted,” said Erasmus, in the waspish tone he used when William tried to compliment him on his virtues. “We’re still two days from Broadchurch, one and a half if we push it but it’ll be hard on the boy.”

Gratefully, William let himself be diverted into talk of practicalities. He would just have to be more careful in the future, keep his distance better, and eventually this would be behind them. He would abandon lust. He would care for Erasmus as he should, as a friend and comrade and fellow child of God, and not wonder about the feeling of red hair slipping through his fingers.

William bent to the task of breaking camp, and ignored the treacherous voice that told him he didn’t want to do any of those things. It couldn’t be any other way.


End file.
